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CHAPTER 20
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2024-10-29 19:42:56I open the closet and look through my clothes until I pick out everything that is a red hue; a silk maroon button-up blouse, a cardinal long sleeve top and finally a burgundy dress lay across my bed. After careful consideration, I decide to wear the silk blouse.
After showering and spending a good hour combing my hair under the water, I slick it back into a bun and begin to get dressed. Buttoning up my blouse, I look at myself in the mirror and wear a sour look at the reason for wearing such attire. Although I told Sebastian to remove any sort of Liberal thinking from his brain
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** "Why does he always have to make everything so hard!?" I mumble to myself, pushing branches away from my face as I walk further into the woods. Upon entering the forest, it's like an entirely different atmosphere; the giant oak trees and enveloping leaves they hold block most of the sunlight, minus a few soft spots that illuminate the area dimly. I'll be honest, I'm a little...scared. If there was a word to describe "scared" with less prominence, then that would be my current emotion. "Sebastian, where are you?" I call out with no answer. The only response I get is from a few birds above and another noise that I cannot label. Oh God. After treading down a descending surface, I am fin
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A myriad of thoughts rush through my mind at Sebastian's two simple words.He looks at me and waits for a definitive answer. What do I say? Or better yet, what will my mouth allow me to say that isn't remotely idiotic sounding?I nod slowly, "Oh...s-sure."I hesitantly roll up my skirt until the hem of my stocking is completely visible. His hand then slides my stocking down with apprehensiveness in his fingers. His hands are rough when they touch my skin; goosebumps rise on my arms.He lifts my foot to remove my stocking and looks at the cut on my foot. His right hand is holding my leg up at my calf while his left hand holds my foot gently."It's actually not that bad," h
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Three hours. Three hours of walking, falling, tripping, whining, mentally dying and coming back to life again in the woods. "Sebastian, I don't think I can go much longer," I pant, holding onto a tree for support. My legs are sore from the calf all the way up to the thigh, and every step I take creates the most intense feeling of ache I have ever felt. "We're almost there," he says. He does a better job at hiding his tiredness and pain than I do, but it's still evident all over his body, especially in his worn-out eyes. I let go of the tree and drag myself to keep up, "Well how do you know that? How do you know how far we have to go? We could...we could be wandering here all night, fordays, even. What if we don't make it? What if we don't make it to the ro—"
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I would be lying if I didn't admit that I secretly await Sebastian's arrival. About how I secretly think he's going to walk up to me, apologize, and hopefully say more honeyed words that will sequentially stir my judgment and make me forgive him. And how I secretly think that this will all be over then; by the time he apologizes, someone will rescue us and take us home, where we can finally rest and forget this ever happened. But that isn't the case. Because when I turn my head to the right of the road, pass the blinding rays of the sun, I see Sebastian walking. Away from me. His legs move at a slower pace on the gravel. His hands are in his front pockets, and his head is facing the sun in the sky. But he's walking, and he isn
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"C'mon, get it together, Leslie!" I tell myself in the bathroom mirror. I can't even count how many times I've told myself to get it together this past week, but frankly after playing a game of pool with Sebastian Harrison's dick on my ass and his breath on my neck, it currently feels appropriate. My face is the color of a tomato, and no amount of cold water can make that go away. Perhaps I'm just a weak human being, unable to handle the touch of a man. If that's the case, then that explains many things. Wow, that's depressing. After splashing my face a few more times, I dry my skin with a paper towel and exit the bathroom. De-spite the fact that I didn't actually go pee, I have to go back to our little area in the back of the bar and pretend as if nothing is wrong. I don't know
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** Now please be advised, dear reader, that I am not an advocate for fighting. There have been countless times where I have walked away from an altercation peaceably. The reasoning for that, is not only because I don't like fighting. But because I can't fight to save my life. Wind-milling? That's as close to a fight as I'll go. Still, it's obvious Sebastian is a clear supporter of throwing punches, because he's letting Skinner have it.Bad. Skinner can't even get up and defend himself at first, Sebastian is punching so hard. But eventually Skinner shoves Sebastian off and proceeds to climb on top of him and ring his hands around his neck, Skinner's blood dripping onto Sebastian's shirt.
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Have you ever seen the mortified, fearful expression on a child's face when they're about to be disciplined by their parent? That is the exact look I see on Sebastian's face when he sees his father. And it's both strange, odd, and incomprehensible at the same time, seeing it on his face. "What are you doing here?" Sebastian asks once he finally opens the car door and lets himself out. Garret approaches him, ferocity in his blue eyes. It's incredible how identical Garrett and Sebastian look when they're both angry. It's as if Sebastian is frowning in a mirror. "Get in the house, Sebastian," he orders quietly. "I'm not twelve fucking years old anymore—" "NOW!" Garrett shouts.
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**I wake up the next morning and immediately get to work.I've been receiving calls about Sebastian's party since I opened my eyes—E! News, People, TMZ, POPSUGAR, you name it. Apparently, they all want to know the reason for Sebastian's erratic behavior at his house party and why he was so ballistic in the first place. Darcy and I have been commenting the same thing: "We don't have a comment on that at this time." The ironic this is, I'm the reason he was acting that way in the first place. Though, I'm the last person they'd expect to push Sebastian to that point.I sit at my dining room table, sipping coffee even though I'm not in the mood to consume much of anything, and sift through the rest of my emails on my laptop. I'm trying my best to keep 'him' out of my mind, bec
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** "This is Sebastian. You know the fucking drill." I sigh irately—one, for calling Sebastian twenty times already only to be led to voicemail, and two, for the voicemail's existence in the first place. I make a mental note to tell him to change it whenever he feels comfortable with talking to me again. "Hey, Sebastian. It's me again. I know for a fact you're ignoring me." I play with a stray piece on my button up shirt and sigh. "I don't blame you. I don't know how many times I'll have to apologize for you to forgive me, but I think we should talk first before that happens. Call me back." I hang up and vow not to call him back. It's already 9:00PM, and I've been blowing up his phone since he left the conferen
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**I've never been at such odds with my wardrobe.My clothes gaze back at me, taunting me with the fact that no matter what outfit I pick, one will always be better than the other, and because of this, I will be prompted to start all over again and choose a new selection.It's currently a warm Monday afternoon, and I have two hours to get ready and make it over to Sebastian's house for dinner. Beverly Hills isn't too far of a drive from where I live, but I'm certain that indecisiveness will be the reason for my tardiness, not traffic.Pedro trots into my room with his chew toy between his teeth, only to jump on my bed to devour it."Pedro!" I yell at him. "Down!"
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** SEBASTIAN "Bro, look over there." Trevor slaps my shoulder, bringing my attention—and the attention of Franklin and Chris—to a table behind us at the restaurant we're at—The Cabana on Melrose. The four women sitting there gives us smiles that say, "If you let me, I'll gladly blow you in the back." Don't get me wrong—they're hot. All four of them. But my mind is a little preoccupied on other things. "You eyeing the redhead?" Franklin asks me. I didn't even realize the girl was a redhead; that's how much I don't care. "Um...nah, not really. Not my type." My friends stare at me like I have five heads. Trevor downs his drink and narrows his eyes. "Hold up, hold up. Four hot chicks are staring our way—four that youknowyou can score all at once, and you're looking like your dog just died. What's up, man?" "Nothing's up." Lies. "I've just got a lot
